


Friendship Liabilities

by Ntjnke



Category: The Colbert Report, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Genre: Don't read if RPF squicks you, F/M, M/M, RPF is still FICTION, This is RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2029725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ntjnke/pseuds/Ntjnke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><span></span><br/><b>Summary (From Merriam-Webster):</b><br/> </p><p>      <span></span><b><i>liability</i></b>,  <i>noun</i><br/><b>1.</b>  a feature of someone or something that creates difficulty for achieving success  — see <span class="u">disadvantage</span><br/><b>2.</b>  the state of being held as the cause of something that needs to be set right  — see <span class="u">responsibility</span><br/><b>3.</b>  the state of being left without shelter or protection against something harmful.  — see <span class="u">exposure</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendship Liabilities

**Author's Note:**

> **Special Thanks:** So many people have read versions or fragments of this story and helped me develop it that listing all of you would be a chapter in and of itself. Just know that if you have read _anything_ from me in the last three months, this is what that story eventually became. I wouldn't be posting now without your help. Heartfelt thanks to [](http://omelton.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**omelton**](http://omelton.dreamwidth.org/) , [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=lunchboxghost)[**lunchboxghost**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=lunchboxghost) , [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=randomfandom93)[**randomfandom93**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=randomfandom93) , and [](http://sophia-sol.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://sophia-sol.dreamwidth.org/)**sophia_sol** for reading the entirety of this monster (often multiple times) and giving me so much helpful feedback.

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. 

 

 

** Chapter 1: It’s a Matter of Poise **

She was starting to hate that slump in his shoulders. The way he stood when he thought no one was looking.

He’d smile when she walked into the room. Offer her a beer or a cookie, and listen attentively while she spent time with him. But eventually, she would get up to do chores or work, and slowly, over the course of the next hour, Jon would draw into himself. His shoulders would shift downwards, his gaze would turn inward, and then she’d have to prod him with an elbow and a smile.

Jon was always quick enough to recover, though. He’d smile at her with that sweet smile that so embarrassed him but was one of the main reasons she fell in love with him. Tracey only needed to prod him with a few more unrelenting teases and that smile would be followed by the trilling laugh that made her day.

She wanted him stand proud again. To smile recklessly.

_Fucking MTV._

She had tried to push him to go out with his friends. “You should catch up with the people you wish you could see more of.” But, being Jon, he would just shrug his shoulders and say that he wanted to put in a few more resumes that day or that he wanted to audition for a gig he’d heard about.

So Tracey went to work everyday, and Jon went to pound the streets of New York, and the day always ended exactly as it was right now.

Jon was standing at the kitchen sink of their small Brooklyn apartment, mindlessly doing the dishes by hand “because habits learned in college just can’t be killed.” He was standing over the soapy water staring off into a place she couldn’t see. In fact she was willing to bet that even if she could see, she wouldn’t quite understand.

Knowing the fall of his shoulders, guessing what it probably meant, Tracey dropped her bag on the couch and walked toward Jon. Moving in close, she wrapped her hands around her boyfriend and gave him the strongest hug she could. She kissed the side of his neck. “How did it go?”

Being Jon, he just ducked his head a bit and gave her a kiss on the check. “Same ol’. They wanted to hear a few skits. Talk about the JS Show and You Wrote It, why they tanked.” Jon chuckled and looked at the ceiling. “I think it’s safe to say that this one’s not going to pan out.”

Tracey shook her head against Jon’s back and gave Jon’s waist one more little squeeze. “You’re wrong. I know it. I’m going to take a shower, and then you’re going to tell me all about it. So you just hold that thought.”

“It’s really not that-“

“All about it, Jon!”

Jon shook his head and reached for the next dish as Tracey headed to the back of the apartment.

In their bathroom, she closed the door behind her and rested her head on the grainy wood of the vanity. As long as she fucking lived, she would fucking _hate_ MTV.

Jon had been so happy to get the last show. He’d been high on the production work for weeks, molding the ideas from the viewers and turning them into actual sketches. He’d come home every day since they’d moved in together to let her know what had happened at work. _It was hilarious, Tracey._ _Oh my god, you should have seen it._ He’d walk around the kitchen cooking dinner, telling her stories and letting her know what he’d have done differently if he had a chance to be the executive producer.

The fuckers had canceled him without even two weeks notice. They’d given him his notice over e-mail and told him to be out of the studio by the next day.

And now Jon was quieter. More still than he’d ever been since she’d met him and even more willing to use a barrage of quick-witted jokes to block any real conversation. He was more reticent in conversations with strangers and just a little more hesitant before letting her hear new material.

Goddamn fucking MTV.

 

*****

Jon had been sitting on the living room couch when he’d gotten the call. Trace knew something was up when he muted the baseball game on the TV.

“Of course, sir. No, thank you sir. I’ll be there on Friday, 9am.” Jon looked over the back of the couch and gave her a brilliant smile. “Human Resources. Yes, I understand. Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” He hit the red button on the cordless and put the phone down on the end table. Tracey moved into the living room and sat on the couch.

“What? You can’t just have _that_ conversation in the living room and not say anything!”

Jon just looked at her for a bit so Tracey gave into the temptation to punch her boyfriend in the arm. “What?”

“I got The Daily Show.” His whisper was disbelieving. And overjoyed.

Tracey launched herself at him, laughing and screaming for him. Jon just wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck.

 

*****

It took about a month, but Tracey herself was standing at the kitchen sink when she realized that Jon, for the first time in months, was animated again. Jon’s dinnertime stories were back.

“You’ve never seen anyone so…so fucking self-assured!” Jon stabbed his fork into his spaghetti, completely ignoring the spatters of sauce it left over the dining table. “This guy walks in the room, _during my first writer’s meeting_ , and immediately starts telling everyone what we need to tweak in the script. He’d point to specific lines, and ask the person who wrote it to come up with something better.” Jon shook his head and continued to shovel spaghetti into his mouth as he told his girlfriend about his first day at work. Tracey, patiently, just handed him a paper towel and nodded while he talked.

“So there I was, with this new crew, trying my damndest to pretend that I was the guy in charge, and to my left is this… _this guy_ …calling all the shots. And no one minded! He was like this weird cross between a taskmaster and the fucking pied piper. I was so damn sure someone was going clue in and hand this Stephen guy my job.”

The stress from the day was showing on Jon’s face. Trace knew he had spent the previous night walking up and down their apartment’s hallway, so nervous he couldn’t sleep. She’d given up on trying to calm him down when he’d just shook his head at her, kissed her goodnight, and told her to try and get a good night’s sleep.

This morning she’d seen him grab a huge thermos, and when he’d come home a scant nine hours later, he had looked exhausted and was still clutching a cup of coffee. Yet, since he had gotten home, he’d done nothing but talk and talk about this Stephen at the studio. Tracey wasn’t even sure Jon knew that his conversation kept circling back to one main character.

“And then you know what he did? Everyone around the table was writing down what he said, taking notes and nodding at his comments when he turned to me and said, ‘Jon, does that work for you? I want to make sure you like the idea.’ And like that, everyone was paying attention to me. It took two damn sentences, and the guy had rallied more respect for me than the entire casting department.” Jon shook his head. “It was amazingly cool.”

Grabbing the spaghetti strainer and an extra plate, Tracey sat down at the table to eat with her husband.

“So, Stephen, you said his name was? Stephen what?”

 

 

 

** Chapter 2: There’s No Soundtrack to “Dinner at Fat Bill’s” **

Tracey watched Jon as she put on her coat and got ready to head out the door. She had a pretty good guess what he was going to say next.

“So I’m gonna be home late tonight.” Jon stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing out his coffee cup. When he didn’t hear an acknowledgement from Tracey, he turned to face her at the coffee table. She couldn’t help her laughter.

“I know!” Slipping on her shoes, Tracey gave him a smile. “You’ve only told me three times….this morning.” She quickly crossed the small apartment foyer and kissed Jon with a small smirk on her face. “If I didn’t know any better, I think you were going on a _date_.”

Jon would kill her if she told anyone, but her absolutely favorite feature of his was his blush. It was hard to get, but the payoff was fantastic.

“I mean, look at you.” She gestured at his outfit and began a slow circle around her reddening boyfriend. She plucked at his shirt. "The nice t-shirt.” While Jon thought up an argument, she slipped her hands into the pockets of his cargoes. “Your new cargoes.” Pressing against his back, she took a deep breath and nuzzled his neck. “Hmmmm? Is that cologne I smell?”

“No!”

Tracey’s throaty laughter filled the apartment as she turned away. “Just checking.”

As she grabbed her bag, she looked at Jon. He’d gone into classic Jon mode, leaning against the kitchen counter, worrying his thumb and staring off out the window over the sink. Probably thinking about the 900 ways going out with Stephen tonight was A Bad Idea.

“Jon?”

He looked up at her, and raised an eyebrow.

"Have fun, babe. It’s been a long time since you’ve met someone you’ve liked enough to hang out with.” Grabbing her keys, she tossed him one last smirk. “Except for me, of course!”

Jon threw the dishtowel in time, but, unsurprisingly, it didn’t get to her before she shut the door behind her.

 

*****

Even though it was well after midnight, it was still a Friday and the traffic south out of the city was a bitch.

Stephen Colbert did not sit still very well.

Worse yet, when he sat still, he tended to think, and more than one incident of zoning out behind the wheel was why he’d gotten into the habit of making calls while commuted. Evie claimed that she liked the late night calls because then, when he got home, the two of them could just climb into bed. They were already all caught up.

For some reason, though, tonight Stephen didn’t want to set up his cell phone. Instead, he’d turned down the radio. He needed to think.

He really liked Jon Stewart.

What he was having trouble with, was _why_. They had almost nothing in common outside of work. Yes, they were both comedians, but where Stephen was outgoing and a glutton for attention, Jon was equally happy doing standup for a bar crowd or a studio audience. In fact, he’d said just that night that he only took started looking into hosting gigs because the pay was infinitely better. To him, it still felt like a form of standup.

Nor was it that they clicked instantly at the studio.

Small and dark-haired, Stephen had seen his new boss pacing the tiny hallway in front of the restrooms five minutes before his first staff meeting. He’d been worrying his hands over and over, and a small scared frown marked his face between his eyebrows. He was obviously so preoccupied that he didn’t see the other man standing near the offices, watching him pace. But Stephen saw Jon smile kindly at the crew that they passed him on the way to the restroom, and he saw how, as soon as any witnesses were gone, he immediately went back to his worried pacing.

The man’s anxiety had won Stephen’s support, not his comedy. Kilbourne had never really given a rat’s ass about how the show came together. Simple respect for _trying_ was why he decided to toss to Jon during their first proof meeting. A meeting that Stephen had obviously owned.

_“Thank you, man. I know what you did in there, and...just...thank you.”_

For the last two months, they’d spent their time cautiously circling each other, liking what they were seeing but neither man willing to be the first to try. There had been lunch breaks and coffee breaks, but no real time spent together that wasn’t related to the studio.

But tonight they’d agreed to go out to dinner.

 

*****

Jon had walked the two of them down to a small pub that he used to frequent in his MTV days. Not his favorite spot, he’d said, but “I figured it would be the type of place you’d appreciate.”

When they’d moved passed the entrance, Stephen had taken a quick look around the room and nodded his head quickly. Apparently they had similar tastes. Stephen gestured towards a small booth towards the back after noting that Jon wasn't slowing down at the bar. Ordering their drinks went quickly enough, and soon they were esconsed in a dark booth, quiet enough to host a conversation but lively enough to encourage sharing.

Too bad they couldn’t find anything to talk about.

“So, uh, you lived in New York long?” Jon rolled a coaster in front of him, watching as it moved from his left index finger to the right.

“Really Jon? That the best you got?” Recognizing it for the attack it was, Stephen buried the urge to wince by playing with his coaster.

“Well, pardon fucking me for not having your casual charm.” Jon grabbed his own coaster and tried flip the cap of his beer over it. Stephen didn’t bother to deny the accusation. He just took another sip from his beer.

“Well, you come up with something to talk about.” Jon left his impromptu coaster game fall apart on the table and looked at Stephen.

“What’s the most important thing in your life?” Stephen held him in a steady gaze.

Jon couldn’t help but be surprised. _That_ was how you started a conversation.

 

*****

Two hours later, both men were slumped over their table, picking at a plate of congealed fries. Apparently, when they stopped being defensive, the two men had no trouble talking.

“Does it ever scare you?” Jon slid a fry across his napkin into the small mound of ketchup he’d made.

Stephen raised an eyebrow at him. “Does what scare me?”

“This city. This town. The business we’re in and the city we chose to pursue it in.” Jon shrugged and looked down at his napkin. “You asked what was ‘the best I could do’. So here’s me starting a genuine conversation.”

When Stephen didn’t immediately answer, Jon felt silly. He’d only known the man across from him for a few months, had only spent time with him at work, and here he was asking him questions he had no business asking. He could feel the measured look Stephen was giving him burning into the top of his head, so he raised his hand to tell the barkeep that he’d take the tab now. The occasional joke he could deal with. But he didn’t just put himself out there for anyone.

Jon started when he felt a hand laid gently across his forearm.

“Every day, Jon. Every day.”

 

*****

Now, driving home, Stephen really couldn’t wrap his mind around what he’d found so compelling about Jon Stewart. Why he spent so much of his free time thinking about him.

Take tonight. Stephen would usually chat up the barkeep and get to know people in the crowd, but Jon’s body language had made it painfully clear that all he wanted was a quiet booth in the back. So they had spent the entire evening tucked into a small booth, talking about everything without getting into anything personal.

Stephen _had_ noticed that the entire time they were there Jon’s attention had never wavered from Stephen. To Stephen, “going out to dinner with Jon” meant a night of _going out_. Apparently to Jon, “going out to dinner with Stephen” meant…spending time with Stephen.

Amy said he was adopting a man-puppy. She said that his obsession with dark haired tiny puppies had invaded his workspace, and that he’d eventually bring Jon home to play wiffleball with and watch movies. Stephen had laughed at the time because it’d occurred to him that Jon probably would like a simple afternoon of just tossing a ball and a movie. But he really hadn’t taken his friend’s joke any more seriously than that.

Evie, always one to share her opinion, told Stephen that he was just learning to appreciate having an adult male around who didn’t rib him about wanting to go home and see his kids. During dinner, remembering his wife’s words, Stephen had taking out his photos of Maddie in her school play (carefully tucked away in his wallet), and Jon had attentively listened while he went through all the behind-the-scenes production details of this fall’s Little Bunny Wallace.

Stephen suspected that both women in his life were right. Jon was something new for him, and probably well on his way to being a good friend. At least, he knew he was glad they’d agreed to have a beer next Wednesday after Edits.

That settled, Stephen turned the radio back up and settled in for the drive home. Actually, Evie was probably still up. He should give her a call.

 

 

 

** Chapter 3: Forty Blocks to Concurrence  **

It took Tracey a few moments to realize who she was looking at. He looked different in street clothes, even a little mundane. Shorter than she’d expected, he stood at the pickup counter with a set of headphones over his head and was bobbing slightly to whatever he was listening to. Dark, slightly wavy hair kept falling in his face, and he kept blowing it away, not even realizing what he was doing.

Tracey walked up to him and tapped him lightly on his shoulder. “Stephen Colbert?”

He had impeccable manners. As soon as he saw her, he took off his headphones and offered her a tentative smile. “Yes? Um, hello. Have we met?” Despite his slight disorientation, he offered her his hand for a friendly shake.

“Tracey McShane.” Trace made sure to watch his face while he processed the information. She saw him think briefly, and seeing a hesitant genuine smile, she threw him a confirmation. “Jon’s fiancé.”

“Tracey! What a pleasure to meet you!”

“Pretty far from the studio for coffee, aren’t you?” A dark pink blush crept across the cheeks of the man in front of her, and Tracey let herself smirk, just a bit. Her and her thing for men with pretty blushes.

“I, uh, I hit a roadblock and thought the walk might help. You?” Apparently Stephen had decided they were having a real conversation and stowed his CD player away in the book bag slung over his back.

“I work at the shelter right across the street. So you walked 40 blocks?”

“I thought a walk _to the subway_ , and trip across town for donuts, would stir my creativity.” Stephen gave her an impish smile and put his hands in the pockets of his fleece. The barista at the counter called Stephen’s order, and Stephen nodded to the man before grabbing his cup.

“Hunh. There aren’t any donuts sold here.” Tracey crossed her arms and challenged the man in front of her. She let her full smirk take over her face.

“Can’t have donuts without coffee. What kind of ambitionless lowlife would I be if I didn’t get coffee for my donuts?” Stephen’s unrepentant grin goaded her into genuine laughter.

“Hey, do you have time for coffee?”

Stephen nodded. “Apparently so.”

“No, I meant, do you have time to sit and have a coffee with me? Jon talks about you all the time, and I’ve been meaning to join you guys for a drink or something. But no time like the present, right?”

Stephen gestured a “right this way” toward the tables at the right side of the coffee house, and Tracey stepped in front of him to choose a table.

 

*****

“I know _exactly_ what you’re talking about! He does this thing at work where he’ll be in a furious tempest of creativity, and then he’ll go back into his office and just stare out the window. I catch him sometimes 'cause I follow him back there for a question.”

“Furious tempest?”

Stephen just shook his head and let the opening for a joke slip by. “It bugs me."

Tracey stared down at her cup, and bit her bottom lip. “Is he really doing okay at the studio? He’s always so vague when he talks about work. He always wants me to think things are fine.” She pointed her coffee stirrer at Stephen. “What does he tell you?”

Stephen avoided her gaze while he obviously considered whether or not to answer her question. _Jon, you sure know how to pick ‘em._ She could tell when Stephen made up his mind to talk because he looked up from the table and met her eyes directly.

“I think the work is going fine. His ideas are new, and people respect him for them. But he doesn’t trust anyone. Not really.” Stephen took a moment to take a thoughtful sip from his coffee. When he spoke, his voice was tentative. “I think he’s so stressed some days he doesn’t know up from down, but he wants so desperately for things to work that he pushes through it.”

Tracey nodded and worried her thumbnail as she thought about what Stephen said.

“What’s he like at home?”

Her head came up at that. “What?”

“At home. With you. And the kids?” Trace shook her head. She’d never understand why so many people in New York assumed that living together meant a couple had kids to support.

Stephen nodded thoughtfully, like he was trying to fit this new bit of knowledge in with what he already knew about his very private co-worker. A wistful look came over Stephen’s face, and when he realized Tracey was just looking at him, waiting for him to explain his question, he smiled sheepishly. “ “Jon guards his private life a little fanatically, and I admit I’m curious.”

It was Trace’s turn to lean back in her chair to avoid giving an immediate answer. How much could she trust this stranger? Then again, what was the gamble is she didn’t trust him?

“He’s the kindest man I’ve ever known.” To avoid looking at Stephen while she shared her confidences, Tracey started shredding what was left of her turnover. “He’s _valiant_ and fiercely protective of the people he loves, and he never acknowledges that about himself.” When she saw Stephen nodding, she leaned forwarded and spoke even more passionately. “Jon thinks love and laughter are the same thing, and I will _never_ understand why he uses jokes as a protective mechanism.”” Tracey gave into a watery smile. “I feel blessed that he wants to marry me.”

The café moved on around them, and the two of them sat quietly, the only connection between them their contemplations of one Jon Stewart.

As far as Tracey was concerned, it was a start. “Help me take care of him?”

Stephen looked at her over his cup of coffee, one eyebrow quirked. Tracey just looked at him, daring him to misinterpret her request.

She knew what she was doing. She was purposefully head-hunting the only man Jon had shown any social interest to help her keep an eye on her husband. To help her make sure that he smiled at work, and didn’t drift off when he was stressed. She barely knew Stephen, and what she did know consisted of second-hand stories from her husband about paper airplanes at work and beers on Wednesday. But he seemed to be able to keep Jon happy. Stable. _Safe?_ And as far as she could tell, that was an unbelievable improvement over how anyone else in the entertainment industry had ever treated Jon.

The sound of Stephen suddenly setting down his coffee with a harsh _clack_ broke her reverie. She watched him rake his hands through his hair and caught the chuckle that escaped as he slid his hands from his hair to cover his face.

“Oh, fuck me.” Stephen let his hands drop into his lap, amused helpless bewilderment taking over his face. Apparently, he understood exactly how much Tracey was asking of him. She chuckled and quirked an eyebrow at the man in front of her.

“Is that a yes?”

Stephen nodded. And grabbed at his right ear and ran a hand through his hair. Again.

Apparently, they had a deal.

 

*****

Stephen placed a cup of coffee and a bag of donuts on Jon’s desk.

“Oh, thanks, man. “ The shorter man turned away from his computer and rifled through the brown paper sack on his desk. “You got me powdered ones! You are awesome.”

“And a grape jelly one at the bottom.” Stephen watched Jon picked up the first of the powdered donuts. “Tracey says hi and not to eat donuts for lunch.” Stephen let himself smile when he saw Jon start to cough a little on the powdered donut.

“What?” Jon brushed at his shirt and pants where the sugar had fallen.

“Tracey and I came to an agreement about the donuts. I said you needed them, and Tracey said that you could have them after you eat your lunch. And the salad she packed you.”

An insane type of glee filled Stephen at the look of confusion on Jon’s face. There were going to be benefits to his adoptive role in the Stewart family. Watching his boss struggle for words, Stephen slipped an arm around Jon’s shoulders.

“I met Tracey at a coffee shop today and we talked. Well, I guess it’d be more fair to say we joined forces.” Stephen slapped his friend on the back and made to leave the office. “Be very afraid, Stewart.”

As far as Stephen was concerned, he totally deserved his dramatic exit.

 

 

 

** Chapter 4: Enjoy the Moment for Once **

Tracey had known since their first date that Jon was a planner. When he’d picked her up from her apartment, he’d not only had a place picked out to eat, but had also sheepishly presented her with a few after dinner options, complete with cost and time requirements. He’d said that he wanted to make sure that they did something she enjoyed. Jon had been so embarrassed.

She’d found it absolutely charming.

Tracey had grown accustomed to her husband's neurotic need to plan ahead. But she had never, in all the years she’d known him, seen anything like _this_.

Jon had his bag laid out on the bed, each item in its place and ready to go in the knapsack. He’d walked back and forth from the living room a hundred times, each circuit adding another oddity to the growing pile.

Playing cards.

Dominoes.

Frankenstein, the DVD.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought her husband was heading off to camp.

“Sure you just don’t want Stephen to camp out here for a few days? It would be easier than packing up that mountain you’re making.” Tracey sipped on her coffee as she watched her husband start another circuit to the living room.

“I’m just trying to make sure there’s something to do that we both like. I mean, we’ve gone to bars, but…” Jon’s voice cut out temporarily as he dug for something. At least, that’s what Tracey assumed he was doing. “…and then where would we be? Knowing him he’ll bring something like The Complete Gattaca Collection on DVD and I’ll be forced to flee. Nope, I’m bringing stuff.”

“Did you pack underwear?” She smiled into her cup when she heard muffled cursing. Jon rounded the corner of the apartment arms full of clothes fresh from the laundry room.

“Shit. I knew I was forgetting something.”

In her back pocket, Tracey’s phone rang. Sighing as she watched her husband compare one gray t-shirt to yet another grey t-shirt, Tracey went to the living to tell her sister that, yes, she would have plenty of free time that weekend.

 

*****

Jon had left the house that morning with his rucksack and his laptop case. “For games, Tracey. I promise not to do any work.”

The damn thing had been taunting him since he’d gotten to the office.

Kicking the small bag tucked behind his desk, Jon considered whether it was childish to call Stephen. He would see him in a few hours. They were supposed to drive up to the bay that night so they could go sailing the next morning.

It was only five hours until Jon would be at Stephen’s house in New Jersey.

Apparently Jon’s brain decided that five hours was too long because his cell phone was in his hand and there was a buzz-click on the other end of the line. Before the ringtone could even start, his ear was assaulted by the raucous sound of the Colbert house on a Thursday night.

“Are you ready to go?” Jon leaned back in his office chair, listening to the other man's voice.

“Sure thing. I’ve already picked up the goods.”

“Won’t they melt in the car?”

“Does it matter?”

Even though Jon knew Stephen couldn’t see him, he let himself smile at the phone.

“You know just how to sweet talk me.”

“Bet your ass I do. How do you think I got out of doing the driving?”

“By being a lazy bastard and whining a lot. Still good for 6 o’clock?”

“Yep.”

One of the things Jon was starting to love about being friends with Stephen Colbert was that they were both comfortable dropping the niceties. Having confirmed that everything was in place, the two of them enjoyed a chuckle and hung up. Despite what their attention span insisted, they were very busy men, and Jon had a stack of paperwork to get off his desk before they could head out.

This trip was a brilliant idea. A frickin’ brilliant, epic-poem-worthy idea. At least, that’s how Stephen described it, and Jon was inclined to agree with him.

 

*****

“I’m sorry, what? You want to talk to Jon? Oh, but Tracey, Jon is currently busy getting us lost on the I-95 corridor heading north. “

“I am not!”

“If you would like to leave a message, I would be happy to—“

Tracey started giggling so hard she had to brace herself against the kitchen counter.

“Is-“, another chuckle escaped. “Is he trying to use a map?”

There was the sound of cursing in the background and Stephen keeping the phone out of arms reach of his companion.

“ _Drive_ , Jon. Try an off ramp we haven’t used yet.” There was the sound of brakes squealing in the background, and Stephen yelped before coming back on the line. “Tracey? No. There has definitely been no use of informative, orienting cartographical references.”

Tracey listened to her husband argue that he’d driven to Massachusetts a hundred times and let her fit of giggles drag her to the kitchen floor. Thank god she’d bothered to mop this morning.

 

*****

“What do you mean you’ve never been sailing?” Jon did his human best to simultaneously stare incredulously at his friend while keeping his eyes on the traffic. “You told me you’d sailed before!”

“I have. I just didn’t say I was any good at it.” Stephen propped his arm against the passenger door and watched his friend turn a slow shade of purple.

“I’m not getting on a boat if you can’t drive the damn thing!”

“It’s not a boat. It’s a schooner. It’s like a playschool boat.”

“In real water. Does it sink like a real boat?”

“It _floats_ like a real boat, and it’ll be fun, Jon, trust me.”

“I cannot believe you got me into this. What the hell was I thinking? Me? On a boat. Christ, Stephen—“

“Tracey called the company and checked to make sure everything was legit. I got my permit renewed two weeks ago.”

Stephen watched as Jon clutched the steering wheel as the headed north on 95.

Knowing his friend was arguing with himself, Stephen put a hand on his shoulder and leaned a bit closer.

“Trust us, Jon. “

Stephen saw the moment Jon gave in. Whooping in victory and leaning out the passenger window was a perfectly valid response.

 

*****

Jon collapsed into his bunk, dead tired, and more than a little bit sunburned.

“That. Was. AWESOME.”

He waved his hand, then turned on his side so he could pass out.

“Jon? Oh, come on, Jon! You can’t be tired. We just got here!”

Jon slammed his pillow over his head.

 

*****

In the end, it had taken two hours and pizza from two different places, but Stephen finally appeased Jon enough that they could settle down in front of their cabin TV to have a Mystery Science Theater marathon.

He’d never admit it, but Jon thought this really must be a slice of heaven. PJs, pizza, and beer.

Stephen was leaning back against the cushion mountain standing in as their couch, diligently working his way through a giant tub of poppycock. They had made a game of seeing if they could top the quips in the movie with their own. So far, Stephen was winning.

“Tracey’s pregnant.”

He had to smile when he heard the crunching stop.

“Um, yeah. Found out last weekend. She’s due in July.” Not hearing a response, Jon looked over his shoulder.

What he found was Stephen concentrating on making the longest mozzarella chain possible between his mouth and his pizza slice. He punched Stephen in the arm. “Dumbass! I’m trying to share something here.”

Stephen nodded as he slurped melted cheese from his pizza. “Yes. You were sharing that you’re fertile. Check. Roger that.” As he chased a piece of pepperoni down the cheese, Stephen flashed him an impish smile and a thumb’s up sign.

“I…uh, I bought us a new place.” Jon leaned back on his side of the cushion mountain and waited for his friend’s response.

“A new place?”

“A new apartment. A, um, a penthouse in TriBeca. She’s always liked it there.”

A long slow whistle greeted his statement. Stephen, across from him, put down his pizza and wiped his hands on his pajama pants. When he was degreased, he turned to Jon with a more serious look on his face.

“Jon, if I let you knock me up, will you buy me property in Manhattan?

Stephen really should have expected the projectile.

On the bright side, it gave him an idea for a great skit. Him and Jon and pizza. And nightclothes…

 

** Chapter 5: Around You, I Can Be Me **

Really, Jon should have known better, Stephen thought. Since when had propriety deterred Stephen Colbert from victory?

“Hey Bossman!” A quick reconnaissance check showed Sam Bee up in the audience seats. She had cupped her hands around her mouth and was clearly speaking to Jon. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be running across a million dollar set lobbing water balloons.” As soon as she finished, Stephen sent a baby blue balloon sailing towards the desk. Sam, standing far back from the action, watched as Stephen and Jon resumed battle and did their best to aquatically destroy each other over the studio desk.

“Hey, Sam!” Stephen tossed his next missile from hand to hand, waiting for Jon to get the courage to look back up over the desk. “Maybe you could, like, stop being a _coward_.” Stephen peeked around from behind the curtain he was using as camouflage. “And say that to my face.” Stephen hurled a yellow balloon from stage left and immediately ducked back.

Sam flipped him the bird.

“When you break something, DJ’s gonna tear you two a new ass. Would hate for you guys to lose your only marketable assets!” Still standing well clear of the splash zone, Sam propped her very pregnant self against the nearest seat and watched as Jon missed the stage curtain by at least 5 feet and his balloon exploded against a front row seat. “No. I take that back. Jon’s ass is marketable. Stephen, you gotta come up with a gimmick because…’pancake,’ baby.”

Even blind and dodging enemy fire, Stephen still managed manage a context appropriate gesture. Looking to center stage, he saw Jon scramble for his artillery. The man was clearly having the time of his life. He was out of breath and his limp was making an appearance, but damn if this hadn’t been the greatest idea ever.

“Hey Sam?” Jon sighted a lock of hair peeping around the curtain and pitched his biggest missile directly to its left. He smiled at ensuing yelp. “Why don’t you go be a real writer and go…write? Or better yet, go get Jason. I’m sure he’ll be able to straighten us out.”

“Fuck you, Jon. He’ll turn this into mortal combat.

Stephen’s giggle behind the screen gave away his position. Jon nailed him in the hip.

In the end it did take DJ’s intervention to get them to stop. As Jon shuffled, Stephen worked his magic to explain that, really, they’d only broken one thing. And weren’t they planning on replacing that anyway?

 

*****

Tracey opened the door, a mixing bowl propped on her hip. She took one look at her husband and rolled her eyes.

“Stephen?”

Jon could only sheepishly shrug and nod.

“He just dropped you off like this? My god. The two of you. Stay right there.”

Jon stood in the doorway to his own apartment waiting while his wife laid down a trail of towels from the front door directly to the bathroom. Tracey didn’t know how Jon was going to explain this one. When Stephen had called earlier with the cryptic message “Don’t get angry right away,” she had definitely not been expecting something so…wet.

“Is anything you’re wearing dry?” Jon’s headshaking made Tracey grab an armful of towels instead of just the 4 fluffy ones.  
“Really Jon, I know you and Stephen like…playing…but it’s _Wednesday_ night.” She laid the towels down in the foyer and gestured for her husband to step on the island of absorbency. “Strip. Leave the clothes on the towels.”

As she watched her husband walk bare naked to their bathroom, Tracey finally gave in laughed until tears ran down her face. They were _forty_ , for god’s sake.

Tracey went to the laundry room and grabbed the empty laundry basket. Drying her tears on the t-shirt covering her very pregnant belly, she chuckled as she picked up the trail of soppy towels that connected the front door to the bedroom. She needed to call Stephen, and let him know that it had required every clean towel in the house to clean up his mess. The man was generally polite. He should’ve been more considerate.

And then, she believed, it was time for a cupcake.

 

 

 

** Chapter 6: Say “Uncle”  **

Tracey was shocked that it only took one real contraction to send her to the tiled bathroom floor. By the time she had gotten her breath back the second one was on her, and in between her curses, she’d managed to crawl back to the bedroom. She’d left her cell phone on the nightstand, charging. Jon had said he wasn’t leaving the house until he knew she had the thing charged and _on_.

He was never going to let her forget that he’d been right.

Bracing her back against their bed, Tracey started take deep breaths, and entered Jon’s number.

Then she clicked “cancel” and dialed 9-1-1. _Priorities, Tracey._

Reassured that the ambulance was on the way, she dialed Jon’s number and held the phone to her ear. Her belly was already tightening in preparation for the next contraction, and her breaths were coming shallowly. A sense of wonderment that things were happening so _quickly_ came over her. How fast can a baby come? _Don’t be silly Tracey. It won’t happen before the EMTs get here._

Why wasn’t Jon picking up?

A few more shallow breaths and cursing, and Tracey just cancelled the call and redialed. Jon wouldn’t leave his cell phone on his desk. She’d even seen him go to the store and get one of those hip holster things so he could wear his phone on his _sweats_. He was going to pick up.

There was a click on the other end of the line. “Yello?” The voice wasn’t Jon’s.

“Hello?” Tracey pressed the phone closer to her ear, and let out a slow hiss. “Who is this?”

“This is Jon Stewart’s Not Secretary. I have been instructed to tell anyone that calls that Jon Stewart is busy today. Jon Stewart’s wife is pregnant and he has forgotten how to use the phone. Jon Stewart is hiding in the ba-“

“Stephen?” It figured that he would be hovering around Jon’s office today. Thank god. “This is Tracey.” Another contraction hit, and Tracey felt herself tipping to the carpet. She couldn’t help the little moan that escaped. “I need Jon.”

“Oh shit.” Tracey heard shifting on the other side of the phone. “Trace? Trace, are you okay? Is it the baby?” There was the sound of something crashing, and then Stephen breathing hard.

“Just get Jon, Stephen. Tell him I called the ambulance and we’re going to Saint Luke’s.”

As Tracey head the breaths over the phone give way to the distinctive sound of running feet, she also heard the front door give and the emergency medical technician call her name.

Despite the pain she was in, Tracey allowed herself a smirk. Guess Jon was just going to have to meet her at the hospital.

 

*****

“Jon, slow down!”

Ignoring him, Jon raced towards the elevators, reaching out to grab the wall to balance as he swung tightly around the corner.

“Jon!”

Tracey had to call an _ambulance_. A freaking ambulance because he had ignored his better instincts and decided to go to work the week she was due. What if they got to the hospital before he did? What if she delivered before he got there?!

Jon broke from the elevators, and ran full tilt towards his car, patting his left coat pocket for the familiar Subaru keys.

His pocket was empty.

_Goddamnit_

In the space of time between realizing his keys were missing and cursing himself, Jon had already turned back around, heading towards the stairs down to the studio.

“The stairs are always faster than the elevator. Good choice.” Framed against the stairwell light, Stephen was panting and grasping at the door frame for support. One part of Jon’s mind was worried for him, but most of it just wanted to go down. Now.

“Stephen, outta the way. I…”

“You left your keys downstairs?” Stephen picked his head up and give his friend a smile. Jon nodded in response, and moved to go around him down the stairs.

“Did you remember to grab the overnight bag you keep by your office door?” Stephen stood up straighter and leaned his back against the doorframe, finally recovered from his sprint to the garage. “You said it was my solemn duty to remind you.”

“Shit. You’re right, Stephen. Thanks. Now,” Jon at this point was squeezing past Stephen into the stairwell. When one hand came up to cordon off the entrance, he pushed against it. “Stephen, not now. I gotta go, man.”

“Did you grab the list of people Tracey wanted you to call when she went to the hospital?”

“What?”

“The blue piece of paper taped above your overnight bag. Marked, ‘Stephen, make me take this with me.’” Braced against the doorframe, Stephen felt when Jon stopped pushing and him and turned to face him. He also saw the moment Jon let himself slow down enough to think.

“What else did I forget?”

“Your cell phone.” Stephen gestured towards the stairs and followed Jon as he headed back down towards the studio. While Jon could tell he was being serious, he could also hear the note of teasing in his friend’s voice. “Your wallet. “

As Jon moved quickly around his office gathering the items Stephen pointed out to him, he took a minute to breathe. Thank god Stephen was there to remind him. Tracey would have killed him if, after all that planning, he’d forgotten this stuff at the office.

Stephen was waiting for him by the door, holding out his key ring with a smile. “Ready to go, Mr. Stewart? Fatherhood awaits.”

Still moving a fast clip, Jon glanced back at his office door. “Any chance I might have also forgotten my driver?” Stephen’s smile burst into a grin, and he held the elevator doors for the soon to be father.

“Was wondering if you were going to remember to bring me. Tracey said I could come. Well, she didn’t say I could come, but I’m sorta used to assuming by now-“

Jon was almost thankful for the constant patter as they headed toward the hospital.

 

*****

  
Stephen gave the new parents a few days before he went by to visit. He remembered when he and Evie had Maddie, and those impossible first few days when it seemed like the entire Colbert clan was descending. All he and Evie had wanted was a couple of hours to spend with their baby girl and instead things had felt strangely like the reception line at their wedding.

So, after hosting the show the night Tracey went to the hospital, Stephen had just texted Jon “Congratulations” and decided to call him later that weekend. On the drive home, he’d gotten a response from Jon. “His name is Nate.”

It was strangely intimate now to be sitting in a hospital room with Tracey and Jon Stewart. The two of them were cuddled in the hospital bed whispering to each other. Jon had the sweetest smile on his face, and he kept running his hand up and down Tracey’s back while they discussed something.

Stephen held Jon’s son in his arms.

He was just perfect. A small baby, already with a dusting of dark brown hair. He was quiet, sleeping peacefully while Stephen held him and rocked him gently while he waited for Jon and Tracey to finish talking. Evie had decided to wait a few weeks before she visited, but Stephen thought it only appropriate to stop in after Jon had given him a call last night.

Over the head of his wife, Jon gave Stephen a delighted, contented smile, and Stephen smiled back, cradling his friends' son. “Why, hello, Mr. Stewart. My name’s Stephen and I’ll be happy to show you around planet earth….” The little baby grasped at his finger and Stephen held him tight to let him know everything was going to be alright.

 

 

 

** Chapter 7: Growing Up is Hard to Do **

“I think he deserves it.” Jon held Nate on his hip as he stirred the pot on the stove. “He’s been with the show longer than any correspondent and audiences love him. Viacom pretty much gave it the green light the minute I started the presentation.”

“So why are you bouncing this off me?” Tracey sat at the dinner table and watched as Jon grabbed an oven mitt to transfer the sauce to table.

“I’m worried.”

“You’re always worried. _What_ are you worried about?” Reaching for the bowl of cooked noodles, she starting forking spaghetti onto both of their plates. Extra sauce for Jon, extra parmesan for her.

“Is it favoritism?” Jon didn’t look at his wife as he asked the question. He just focused on locking Nate into his high chair. “I mean, it’s Stephen. I love Stephen. He’s my best damn friend….probably. Maybe. Fuck.” Jon dropped into his chair and twirled spaghetti onto his fork.

“But you said that you think he deserves it.” Tracey sat and watched her husband think through whatever was bothering him.

“Exactly. I think he deserves it. Problem is, with Stephen, I always think he deserves whatever I can give him.”

It was clear that Jon hadn't noticed Tracey watching him instead of eating. He was too busy contemplating the problem presented by offering Stephen his own show.

“I think what you’re doing, Jon, is giving Stephen an opportunity professionally. And we both know him well enough to know that he’ll probably be an instant hit.” Tracey sipped from her wine glass and smiled at her husband “And I think that you have enough experience in this business that you should trust your instincts.”

“If I tell him he’ll succeed, then he’ll take my word on it.”

“As well he should.”

 

*****

Jon’s cell rang in the middle of a editing meeting, and when Jon saw the caller, he knew something was wrong. Feeling a bit like an asshole for rushing the editing team, Jon cranked through an hour’s work in 15 minutes, and was in his friends office with donuts and pastrami sandwiches in 30.

Stephen was sitting on the couch, his head cradled in his hands. “How do you deal with it?”

Jon dropped his packaged on the desk and sat next to his friend. “What do you mean?”

Stephen waved, indicating his inherited office and the studio outside the door. “All of it. The…just all of it.” A frustrated hand pushed itself through Stephen’s hair, and he let out a rush of air as he sat up straight. “I know. I _know_ , Jon. You warned me it would be more than I was used to. That it would take some time to adjust. “ Stephen kicked the air in front of him. “But when do I start feeling like it’s okay to go home at night?”

Jon placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. Then he just waited because he knew what was coming.

“Do you know that I haven’t seen John or Paul come home from school _once_ this year?” Stephen addressed his question to the floor and didn’t wait for a response. “I feel lucky if I make it home before they’re in bed.“ Stephen turned his head so he could look at Jon. “Maddie said on Saturday that if she wanted to see me , she’d be sure to call and schedule an appointment with Erica. She was only half-kidding, Jon.”

Jon put his arm around Stephen’s shoulders and pulled the man in for a sideways hug. He wasn’t surprised when Stephen buried his face in Jon’s shoulder. One of the things Jon loved about Stephen was his level of trust.

“Stephen, I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” At the snort into his shirt, Jon regrouped. “Fine. You want honesty? Okay. I deal by going gray and trusting Tracey to take any means necessary to get me out of the apartment in the morning.” Jon felt when the snorts turned to laughter and knew he’d chosen the right word to comfort. “ It gets easier to negotiate, Stephen. I promise. But I don’t think it ever gets ‘easy’. Stephen?” Jon nudged his friends chin with his fingers. “Stephen, look at me.”

Brown eyes and round glasses met his eyes.

“You got this show because you deserve it. No, stop, I’m not just placating you.” Jon pushed himself up on the couch so he could sit up straight. Following his body, Stephen sat up straight as well. “Every single comedian who’s worked for me and had the talent for another venue has completely gotten my support. And they’ve gone on to some damn good places.” Jon could see Stephen start to shake his head and take a breath. “No, let me finish. “ Jon tucked a piece of hair behind Stephen’s ear. “But you, Stephen, are the only one who moved on to carry an entire show.”

“Because you made a show for me.”

“Because Comedy Central saw a show they liked and were willing to sign for it. And yes, I produced it. But only because I was absolutely sure you would succeed.” Still seeing the doubt in Stephen’s eyes, Jon shook the shoulders he’d rested his hands on. “You know me! Since when have I been willing to waste money!”

A rueful smile crossed Stephen’s face, and a half-smirk crossed his face. “Well, you did buy me that slinky when we were in Atlanta.”

Jon reached for a potato chip and threw it at him.

 

*****

Stephen had never told the production crew because he was sure they would worry about him, but the worst part of being a host was the hour right before taping.

Evie knew, of course.

There were too many voices. Too many sounds, and unlike a party or a baseball game, Stephen was expected to hear everything. To catch the words that were being flung about, and offer his opinion when something was off.

More often than not, though, it was a struggle just to keep up. He’d hear something, and by the time he’d translated the sounds into a statement, the crew was onto the next item on the day’s checklist. It was beyond aggravating, but in the last few months he’d just learned to anticipate the conversations by getting to know the personalities of his crew.

Jon had always made hosting look so _easy_.

No, that wasn’t fair. He _had_ admitted that the job sometimes got to him. That he still worried about the off performance night or who in their right mind would consider him charismatic enough to watch every single night. Jon had even warned Stephen to stay on top of production and scripting because it was infinitely harder than taping.

But Stephen had never quite comprehended how quickly his decisions had to be made.

Each day, thousands of questions were casually tossed his way. How did he want his set to look? Would this costume work? Was the punchline right? Was he ready to book the next trip? Thousands of questions were inserted between the questions he was already used to fielding about writing and performance, and usually people needed an answer faster than he could take the time to think. More and more often he found himself answering on instinct, or better yet, deferring to the opinion of his staff.

And that was why Pre-Tape was always so hard. He’d given his answers during the day, and now he had to hear enough to follow up on them.

Stephen had always known he was a good writer. It had only taken a few months after moving to New York to realize he was a better performer than most comedians as well. But hosting, he was realizing, was very, very scary.

This show would sink or swim based on his decisions, and his name was on the marquee.

At ten minutes to taping, Charlie announced it was time to check the feed to The Daily Show studio. From his little booth to the right of the soundstage, he worked his magic and made Jon appear on the tiny screen just in front of the C-desk. When Jon realized the feed was live, he gave Stephen his off-stage smile and a little wave to let him know the feed was working both ways.

Stephen hadn’t really told anyone, not even Evie, but his favorite part of Pre-Taping was checking in with TDS. Every night before he started his own show, he got a reminder of how it _should_ be done, was reminded that it could be done well and with grace, and that made him feel a little more confident that he would make The Colbert Report work.

 

 

 

** Chapter 8: Sometimes Even Well-Made Things Break  **

Tracey watched the soundstage from a seat in the audience bleachers. Sometimes, right before a show or right after, she liked to sit out here and just watch Jon work. It was close enough to the stage to see what he did for a living, but not close enough to bother him if he was trying to concentrate.

Something had been bothering her all week. It wasn’t something tangible, that she could easily put her finger on. But she knew that it was something that she needed to pay attention to. Her hope was that, since she hadn’t caught it at home, maybe she’d see it here at the studio.

Here, at work, Jon was in his element, giving out directions while taking and shaping the ideas of his staff. He was supposed to take Tracey out to dinner tonight, but after a great night of taping, the editing crew had needed just a few more minutes.

When Jon went back to the soundstage, she took up her seat in the corner of the audience and just took the time to watch him.

There.

Right there.

Tracey leaned forward in her seat and paid attention as a small frown crossed Jon’s face. It was brief, just a moment of insecurity, but she saw it. In between talking with crew members, Jon had checked his phone. He’d thumbed through the screen, frowned at it, and then closed it before hanging it back on his belt loop.

Apparently, Jon was waiting for a call from Stephen. She was willing to bet money that he’d been waiting for that call all week.

She’d noticed lately that Jon had gone back to wearing his phone holster. His phone was on him whenever he was awake, and when he wasn’t, it was on his nightstand, fully charged. Playful teasing hadn’t gotten him to admit what he was up to.

In the seven years since she had invited Stephen Colbert into their lives, the man had proved himself time and again to be a priceless friend. He was a security blanket for Jon’s fears and a catalyst for his creativity. Tracey was grateful that someone cared about her husband enough to always have his best interests at heart.

And now Jon was clinging to his phone, and Stephen hadn’t been by the apartment in nearly 4 months.

Down on the stage, Jon sighted her and waved in her direction. She put on her best smile and waved back.

Maybe it was the new show.

Stephen was busy. She knew that. He wasn’t always free to just stop by the apartment and kill time with the two of them. He couldn’t just go have an after show drink with Jon after taping anymore. He was a grown man who was insanely busy with moving his family to another neighborhood, taking on the mantle of both producer and host, and trying not to buckle under the weight of incredible responsibility. She’d watched Jon work through the same thing. She knew what it could do to a person.

But she also knew Stephen, and he wasn’t the kind of man to buckle under the pressure of work. In fact, he was exactly the type of man to take a few minutes out of a busy day to call his best friend just to see how he was doing.

Yet Jon was on his soundstage, ignoring the words of his graphics coordinator because he was checking his phone. Again.

Tracey sat back in her chair and bit her thumbnail, thinking.

She knew Stephen was grateful Jon’s help in setting up the show. When he'd received his contract as host, she’d received a dozen roses at the clinic with a note signed “Sorry for stealing your husband this week. Will return him dry cleaned.” She laughed and pinned the card to the corkbord behind the scheduling desk. Since then he'd showed his appreciation with little gag gifts that Jon would come home and show her, displaying it on the kitchen counter like it was a priceless gift from a foreign head of state.

She knew Stephen was comfortable with the two of them. The man had spent more evenings on their living room couch than their two children. He’d eat Jon’s spaghetti and Tracey’s cookies and fall asleep to the sound of Jon watching a Mets game. He called it his “island vacation”, and claimed it was as good as anything he could get on James Island.

But Jon was back to getting stuck at the kitchen counter, scrubbing the counter with a sponge in endless cirlces and staring out at the New York skyline.

Grabbing her purse, Tracey caught Jon’s attention with a wave and gestured towards the offices, holding her hand up as a pantomime of a phone. Jon saw her and nodded, smiling before turning back to DJ.

The hallways were clear at this time of night. As soon as taping was done, the on-air talent tended to clear out quickly, with the editing crew glued to their desk to meet the 9pm film to network deadline. Turning into the conference room at the end of the hall, Tracey pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number she knew by heart.

She was surprised when he picked up.

“Trace? What’s up? Is Jon okay?”

Tracey let herself fall into the closest chair around the conference room’s glorified Formica table. She placed her hand on her forehead and leaned her head back against the chair.

“Got a few minutes, Stephen?” She listened to the sound of the man on the other end breathing.

“Honestly? No. We just wrapped and I need to go into post-production.” Tracey heard the sound of papers shuffling, and what seemed like the voice of an intern or assistant trying to catch Stephen’s attention. “Is this an emergency? Can I call you later?”

Tracey let her bitter chuckle float over the phone line and felt a keen satisfaction when the sound of it was enough to stop Stephen from whatever he was doing. His end of the line fell silent.

“Yeah. It is.”

 

*****

They compromised on a walk. Just a short one, around the block from Stephen’s studio, looping back to 52nd Street.

Stephen still wore his show suit and makeup. He walked in time with her, shortening his stride to her shorter one, his hands in his pocket as his listened to her concerns. He stood to her left, subconsciously taking the traffic side of the sidewalk.

Tracey couldn’t help but notice that while he listened intently, he wasn’t volunteering any information.

“I understand that you are incredibly busy now, Stephen. I’ve watched Jon do this job for six years. But, but Stephen, have you _seen_ him lately?”

“’Course I have, Tracey. Nearly every day. We have lunch on Fridays. Honestly, he seemed fine to me.” Stephen kicked an empty can on the sidewalk as they continued their circuit of his studio. “No. That’s not quite right. He’s working longer days and sleeping a little less. But he told me it was because of all the startup work for The Report.” Stephen gaze was on the New York skyline, and while occasionally his head would turn toward hear, Tracey got the impression that his thoughts were somewhere else.

Their brief walk had circled them back to the TDS stage entrance. Tracey put one hand on the doorknob and typed in the passcode with the other. Stephen stood behind her, looking down at the ground, his hands still tucked into his pockets. He suddenly looked very tired.

“Stephen, I-…If something’s going wrong, you know you have both of us, right?” Tracey stood in the doorway as she watched the younger man nod his head at her words. “It's fine that you’ve moved up. It’s fine if you’re busy. But Stephen?” She waited until his gaze settled on her. She was going to make sure he understood her.  
“Moving up is great. If you move on, though, that would…hurt.”

Tracey let the door close behind her as she went back into the studio. Jon was probably wondering where she had gotten off to.

 

*****

Jon looked at his watch and then at the doors of the stadium. He was sure he’d told Stephen the right time. He remembered sending the text while he was out shopping with Tracey .

However, that didn’t change the fact that Stephen wasn’t here. Nor had he called to say why he was running late.

After pacing in front of the entrance gates for a few more minutes, Jon let his nerves get the better of him and pulled out his cell. He knew Stephen hated talking on the phone unless he had to, but really. He was over an hour late.

It took nearly half a minute, but eventually Stephen’s phone switched over to voicemail.

_Stephen’s phone. I didn’t get to it in time. But I can replay voice messages! Isn’t that nifty? So leave one and I’ll call you back. Beep._

“Hey, uh, Stephen? It’s Jon. It’s,” Jon checked his watch again, even though he just did so before making the call. “It’s 2:30, and I’m at Citi Field. Is everything ok? Anyway, give me a call. I can leave your ticket with the…door guy….if you think you might be late. Just let me know.”

After another 30 minutes had passed and there was still was still no sign of Stephen joining him, Jon gave a sigh and headed towards the stadium gates. The security guard nodded to him, checked his ticket, and waved over an attendant to bring him to his seat behind first base.

Stephen never showed up. And Jon found he didn’t enjoy the first Mets win of the season.

 

*****

Tracey was making a cup of hot cocoa before bedtime when she heard the landline answering machine click on.

“Hey? Jon? It’s Stephen. I am so sorry. Evie and I had an…issue and…I’m sorry. Give me a call back? Trace, if you get this first, call me, okay? Jon’s not picking up his cell phone.”

Tracey sipped at her cocoa and looked at the door of Jon’s office. Well, that explained why he’d been locked in there all evening.

 

*****

“Stephen?”

Seeing his assistant hover at the door to his office, Stephen turned away from his keyboard and gave her a questioning eyebrow.

“Tracey McShane is on the phone for you? She insists on speaking with you, but I didn’t recognize the name. Should I put the call through?”

Stephen nodded. He waited until Amy left the room before he picked up his receiver.

Tracey had never been one to mince words.

“I’ve told you and I’ve told Jon a million times, Tracey. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Stephen nodded to Allison as she came into his office and turned his desk chair to muffle the voice carrying loudly over the phone.

“No, I _don’t_ think you understand. Of course I’m his friend, but there’s a different between support and mothering.” Stephen gestured to the stack of papers on his desk and figured out a way to indicate using only his hands and his elbows that he had absolutely no idea where his meeting notes were. “We're busy, Tracey, more so now than ever with the midterms. But sure, let’s go to dinner. I’m sure I can find a night.”

Allison tapped her watched and tipped her head toward the office door. They were supposed to across town by twelve. Turning completely toward the window, Stephen lowered his voice for privacy.

“Trace, I’ve known you for a long time. And I love you both. But really, you’re pushing. “

Realizing that his best friend’s wife wasn’t going to give up, Stephen gave up for her.

“Tracey, I’ve got to go. Hug Nate for me. I’ll talk to you later.”

Stephen winced at the sound of Tracey slamming the phone onto its receiver. Knowing her, she was probably wishing it was his head.

 

*****

“Jon, we need to talk.”

Jon paused halfway to his dresser, his t-shirt hanging limply from his hand. He looked at his wife in their bed. “What’d I do?”

Exasperated, Tracey gave mimed strangling her husband with her bare hands. When he smiled, she patted the covers next to her. “Get in. I want to talk about Stephen.”

Jon just rolled his eyes and laid down. “Pfft, Tracey. You had me worried.” He reached over to his nightstand and clicked off his lamp. “Stephen’s fine. He’s just busy. Go to bed.”

Tracey punched his arm to get him to wake back up. “No. I’m serious. Jon, when was the last time Stephen called you? He hasn’t spoken to me in nearly a month. Something’s going on.”

Looking at his wife from his pillow, Jon had the look of a man who was trying to decide whether it was nobler to appease his wife with conversation or to pretend she didn’t exist. Apparently, he made a decision because he put his hands behind his head and asked, “Hon, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You! Look at your nightstand. That thing has been on and constantly charged for months. You’re waiting for Stephen to call! And he doesn’t. You come home now right after taping and Stephen never visits. I want to know what the two of your aren’t telling me.”

Jon sat up and turned his lamp back on. “What the hell are you on about, Trace?”

“I don’t like how things are now. Maybe you were right. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten the show. He acts like he doesn’t have time for you anymore now that he’s ‘important’ and-“ Tracey swiped back her bangs with one hand and hit the mattress with her fist. “And I don’t like how sad you are!”

Jon wrapped his arms around his wife and tucked her head into his shoulder. Tracey felt his hand petting her head and she held onto him even more tightly.

“Trace, there’s nothing wrong.”

“I know there is.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Trace.”

“Then where’d he go?”

“He’s a grown man with a family, Tracey! You’re acting like he’s our puppy.”

“Don’t you miss him?”

A deep sigh came from above her head, and she felt Jon move his hands into her hair. He kissed the top of her head and rested his forehead against her widow’s peak. “Who wouldn’t?” Jon’s hands trailed from her hair down her sides to rest on her waist. “Stephen’s job is more demanding now. We know what that means. The man’s lucky he has time to sit on the pot, much less walk down the street to talk to me about nothing.” Another kiss to her hair. “And you’re sweet for worrying. Stephen will come around when he has the time. We’ll invite him to dinner. C’mon. Lie down.”

Jon coaxed his wife down towards the mattress and tucked the blankets around the two of them. He pulled her onto his chest and wrapped his arm around her before tucking her head into his shoulder.

“Jon?”

Jon “hmmm”’d as he settled in for sleep.

“Stephen’s good for you.”

Jon patted her shoulder.

“And though he never says it, you’re good for him.” She could feel Jon settling into sleep under her. Knowing she only had a few moments before he nodded off, she leaned up his body and kissed his temple. “I just think the least he could do is act like he loves you, too.”

There. She had said her piece and Jon could do what he wanted with it. Tracey snuggled down into her husband's side to sleep.

Above her, Jon stared at the ceiling.

 

 

 

** Chapter 9: I Am Flattered by Your Fascination with Me **

Jon sat at the kitchen table, bobbing Maggie on his knee. He held a tissue up to her drippy nose and kissed her head when she started to fuss.

Cradling his daughter in one arm, Jon dialed Stephen’s number with the other. He knew that Stephen hadn’t had a chance yet to leave the house. He also knew his friend was a morning person and was already up, doing whatever he did on the weekends when he was truly committed to not working.

_Please, for god’s sake, Stephen, pick up the damn phone._

Jon heard a click on the other end of the line before his ear was assaulted with the sound of screaming.

“I told him that if he ever touches my stuff again I was going to kill him!”

“Maddie! You stop that! You know better than to- Jon?”

It took a moment for Jon to realize that Stephen had started speaking to him.

“Jon?”

“Stephen! Um, sorry. Look, I know it’s last minute and this is a shitty thing for me to do, but-“

“DAD! Paul is being a little fucker and-“

“Madeleine Colbert! I….who do you think you are?” Stephen’s voice came back directly into the line. “Jon, give me a moment would you?”

Jon heard the phone being put down, and then Stephen’s voice was in the background wrangling a teenager and two pre-teen boys into civility. Jon couldn’t see what was going on the other end of the line, but he had a strong suspicion a lot of young Colberts had just gotten sent to their rooms.

“Jon?”

“Stephen. Yeah. Stephen. Look. Trace and I just got a call from my brother and my mom had to go to the hospital this morning. I know it’s short notice, but could you guys look after Maggie for a day while we head down to see her? It’s just that she has the sniffles and if Mom’s sick…”

The answer he was expecting didn’t come. Instead, Jon heard Stephen breathing on his end of the line.

“Stephen?”

“Yeah, Jon. I heard you. It’s just that…damn man, I’m sorry to do this to you, but this weekend. We just can’t.”

Jon stared at the headset of his phone, disbelieving of what he was hearing come out of it.

“Um, no problem. I understand.”

“You know I usually would. It’s just…it’s not a good idea this weekend.”

“Yeah. I understand. Sorry for bothering you Stephen. Have a good weekend.” Jon clicked the “End” button on his phone, and wilted back into the dining table chair.

Tracey came down the hall, her hair still wrapped in a towel, and turned to him as she tried to shove her foot into her sandal.

“So, what’s the plan? Are we dropping her off? Is Stephen going to come pick her up?”

Jon realized his feelings probably showed on his face. “Um, no. He says they’re busy this weekend. Do you think your sister could take her?”

Tracey let her other sandal drop on the foyer floor as she stared at her husband.

Jon didn’t flinch too much when he heard the bathroom door slam.

 

*****

Jon called Tracey at work at 2pm. By 2:30, she was already on the cross-town subway headed towards 52nd Street. Jon never had free time on Wednesday and he never said that he “wanted to talk”.

The ride to her husband’s studio had never felt so long.

By the time she arrived at his office, Jon was already standing by the door, his coat on, his keys in his hands. “We’re going to the park.”

And then they had walked. From Clinton, over to the Lincoln Tunnel Station, and then north to Central Park. Jon had kept his hands in the pockets of his leather coat the entire way, his shoulders tense, and Tracey had the sickening sensation that Jon was about to break.

When they had been walking aimlessly for half an hour, Tracey inched into the gauntlet. “Jon, baby, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Jon kicked a pinecone.

Hoping that she could coax him into sharing what was on his mind, Tracey put a hand on his sleeve and rubbed his shoulder.

She was surprised when Jon stopped walking.

““He said he doesn’t need us anymore!” Walking off the path and into the trees to their right, Jon reached out and tugged on the branch of a tree ripping away any leaves that came between him and his anger.

“He was such an asshole! He just said that he thought it wasn’t normal, and we were stifling, and -“

“Jon, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jon took a slow breath through his nose, and let it out while he stared at the ground and kicked another pine cone. “Stephen said that we need to just leave him alone more. That he loved us, but he’s getting uncomfortable with all the time the three of us spend together.”

“Maybe he was having a shitty day.”

“Stephen fixes shitty days with French fries and Mountain Dew.” Jon sat down on a patch of grass to the side of the path. “I know that Stephen fills a weird place. You said it yourself. The fucker’s good for me. But it pisses me off that he doesn’t recognize that he’s family.”

Tracey sank down onto the grass next to Jon. “Brother, father, or lover?” Tracey gave him a wry smile. “Oh c’mon. Like you’ve never thought about.”

Jon just shook his head while looking at the patch of grass between his feet.

“You know, I asked him to look over you?”

Jon’s head snapped up to stare at her. Tracey wrapped one of his curls around her index finger. “Well, not exactly in those words, but close enough.” Jon pulled her hand from his hair, telling her in no uncertain terms that he wanted her to explain.

She sighed.

“When we met…seven years ago?....I thought you needed someone to help me take care of you. Stephen seemed like the best combination of brother and father and friend you had going at the moment, so I asked him. It was a little eerie how quickly he said yes, actually.” Tracey leaned back to mimic her husbands posture. “I think he ended up adopting the both of us. Not positive, but pretty damn sure.”

Scooting over so she was sitting a littler close, she asked, “Did you try calling him?”

“Yep. And he didn’t pick up his phone.” Jon blew a breath out and pulled Tracey’s hand up to play with her fingers. “I just don’t get why he won’t tell us what’s going on with him.”

“Have you ever had sex with him?”

Jon looked up from her hand and stared at her. “What? Have you?”

 _Well, aren’t we a fine pair?_ “Nu-unh. I asked first.”

Jon blew a curl out of his face. "Yeah.” Then a quick hand came up to stop further questions. "And before you ask, no, we’re not. Now answer my question. Have you?”

“Isn’t the point of this conversation that we're even asking these questions?”

“No, fuck, Tracey, I called you because-”Jon moved his hands to his side in order to push himself to his feet. Tracey tugged at his pants legs to get him to sit back down.

“No. Answer my question. How much does Stephen mean to you?” She met her husbands blue eyes and refused to back down.

“He’s Stephen.”

Tracey nodded. Exactly. “And?”

“Oh holy fuck we are weird.”

“Yep. The question is, does Stephen know it?”

 

*****

Stephen Colbert suspected he was very drunk.

Scratch that. He knew he was drunk. However, he suspected he was in serious hate with Alanis Morissette.

That’s right, Stephen Colbert hated jukeboxes and he fucking hated Alanis fucking Morissette.

He hated the way she was on every freaking jukebox in the country. He hated the way he lost twenty dollars to Paul because he said she was a one hit wonder and Jewel would be a bigger hit.

He hated her because she wrote honest fucking songs that then ended up _in_ jukeboxes, and at the moment, he was too drunk to get up and leave.

So there he sat. He took his medicine aurally and wondered whether other people maintained as much of their vocabulary when they were as shitfaced as he was.

Alanis Morrissette wasn’t fair. She was a woman he’d never meet who could sit in her plastic and metal box and tell every single one of his problems to complete strangers. He, on the other hand, was being forced by insobriety to contemplate why he was sitting in a pub at 9 o’clock on a Wednesday night when he was tired and wanted to go home.

Alanis Morrissette didn’t give a good goddamn about whether he wanted to think. She’d probably enjoy it because it would give her more lyrics to spew that would ruin his life.

He was very, very drunk.

Stephen raised his fifth bottle of beer to his lips and smiled hatefully. He wasn’t smiling at anyone in particular. He couldn’t because he didn’t really _know_ anyone else in the whole damn bar. Nope, he hadn’t come for the company. He’d come for the empty pub booth in the back of the room that was the closet thing to a security blanket that he had in this entire city. Where he was free to ask, and say, and do whatever he wanted so long as he got Jon home in time to get at least five hours of sleep.

He figured Tracey would appreciate him not getting drunk on her living room couch.

Stephen flicked his bottle cap at the empty glass on the table in front of him and pretended to give a shit when he missed.

Jon had walked out today.

For the first time in eight years, he’d left a room without checking to see if Stephen was coming with him. In fact, now that Stephen thought about it, he’d walked out of that conference room the same way he had walked of the 54th Street Studio two years ago. When he was done taping his final show at the old studio, and the new soundstage on 52nd was complete. He’d simply put on his coat, grabbed his keys, and after a final check to make sure the room didn’t have anything else he needed, he’d just left. He’d washed his hands clean of his time on 54th and left the contents to someone else’s care.

Today he’d walked out like he’d had enough of Stephen and his bullshit and decided that it just wasn’t worth it.

And dammit, Stephen _wanted_ to be worth it.

Eight years ago, he hadn’t even fucking known Jon Stewart. He hadn’t known his wife. His friends had extended beyond his social circle at work, and those friends that weren’t in New York were only speed dial and a short conversation away. He’d been _fine_. He hadn’t been a host or a producer, but he’d made ends meet for a wonderful family he adored. He had constant work in a business and a city that showed no mercy. He’d been fucking happy.

Then Jon had clomped in. He’d shown up at _Stephen’s_ studio full of sincere interest and met Stephen’s bizarreness with a sense of humor that wasn’t stunted by his unparalleled capability for discretion.

He’d made Stephen feel safe.

 

_You are the bearer of unconditional things  
_

Stephen threw a buffalo wing at the jukebox.

It wasn’t normal for a grown man to crave the company of a married fucking couple! He wasn’t supposed to feel more comfortable lounging on Jon and Tracey’s couch then he was at home on his _own_ couch listening to his kids tell him about school, or camp, or the nine-thousand always changing reasons why Little Brothers Suck. There was no such thing as craving his best friend’s wife’s cookies at 3pm when the vending machine was empty, or wishing that his family had an extra-large spaghetti strainer because that’s what Jon had and that’s what Jon had taught him to use and the sight of large spaghetti strainers now inexplicably made him happy.

 

 

 

_You're the best listener that I've ever met  
You're my best friend  
Best friend with benefits_

Stephen was willing to bet the bartender wasn’t going to give him another beer. You don’t give beers to men who sleep with their best friends after a mega-bucket of buffalo wings. And good men don’t hug their best friend’s wife the next morning because she looked tired in her worn blue bathrobe and probably needed it.

Tracey always smelled like Irish Spring in the morning. Jon smelled like Dove. And Jergens.

Evie had been complaining lately. Why didn’t he come straight home when he could? Why did he spend so many Saturdays in the city? Was it her? The children are wondering when you’re going to take them bowling. No, I can’t make cookies like Tracey’s. No, Stephen, I’m tired. Go to sleep.

There wasn’t a bedtime at Jon’s. Or a curfew, if that’s what it’s called for grownups. Stephen had shown up in the middle of the night more often than once, and Jon had just patted him on the cheek and thrown a blanket and a pillow on the couch. He’d kissed Stephen’s forehead and told him he’d see him in the morning.

Bedtimes and manners were for the kids of the Stewart House, and Stephen had a very adult relationship with their parents. Adults played within the constraints of a very unforgiving rulebook. Adults could call each other on private numbers to ask rude questions that needed answers.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Jon wasn’t just a host anymore, a fellow comedian who read scripts from the teleprompter because that’s what the writers told him to do. He had companies, and property in Manhattan, and a personal iPhone that carried very different information from the office blackberry that his secretary babysat when he left the office. Jon Stewart was a grown man with kids now, Tracey McShane had morphed into a 40-something mother of two, and between them they had formed the modern definition of a power couple that had absolutely no need for a man who felt like a lonely 10 year old who’d finally found a place to play where he wouldn’t be made fun of.

It didn’t matter if he brought his own company and property to play with.

 

_Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are  
I couldn't help it_

Stephen landed face down on the table. He really needed to call Evie. It probably wasn’t safe to drive home.

 

 

 

** Chapter 10: Repairs in Progress. Proceed with Caution  **

Jon was learning that it was damn near impossible to speak to an avoidant Stephen Colbert.

It _shouldn’t_ be that way.

Jon sat in planning meetings directly to Stephen’s left. One would think it would be hard to maintain an impersonal conversation with the man who’d been pouring your coffee for nearly 10 years, but Stephen not only managed it, he made it look like _JonandStephen_ to anyone who was watching. And Jon couldn’t exactly pull Stephen out of a staff meeting. They’d never been that private and people would wonder what was up with them.

Jon had tried to speak to his friend during rehearsals or at his studio. However, onstage surrounded by nearly 50 crew members was not where Jon wanted to ask the questions he needed to ask. So instead he spent those precious few minutes making casual, useless conversation with the man who had stayed up with him the night after his son was born.

Their history was present in their small talk but they didn’t manage to actually _say_ anything to each other.

The _biggest_ problem was turning out to be that Stephen was Stephen, and Jon was finding it damn hard to pin down a man who was allowed into any room in either studio and was beloved by every employee on his staff. Apparently, there were places in both studios that Jon didn’t know about. Or interns who liked Stephen Colbert more than Jon Stewart.

Eventually, Jon gave up on the polite methods of starting a conversation and just locked the two of them in Stephen’s green room.

“What the hell, Jon?” Jon turned the janitor’s key in the lock behind him and dropped it into his pocket. It was 8pm and Stephen had been in the stage right dressing room signing autographs for VIP guests. It was late enough that most of crew had gone home, but early enough that Stephen hadn’t had time to make it back to his office.

There were benefits to knowing a man as well as Jon knew Stephen Colbert.

“Stephen, I’m just here to say that you’re being a damned idiot and you need to come home.” He raised his hand when he saw Stephen about to stand. “No. Sit.”

Jon grabbed a chair from near the vanity and straddled it before giving his best friend an exasperated look. “You’ve been a real ass lately, you know that? The good thing is, I love you to bits and you’ve been there for me when I’ve been ready to fall to shit, so I forgive you. For anything. ”

Having said his peace, Jon fished the key out of his pocket and turned towards the door to make a hasty, if inelegant, departure. When he realized that Stephen had let him finish his speech without even an answering retort, he turned back.

“And call Tracey. She’s worried sick. We’ve missed you.”

 

*****

After weeks of no response from Stephen, Tracey and Jon decided that the easiest way to get Stephen back was to enlist Evie's help. It was weird asking for permission, but they figured asking later would be even more awkward and involve a great deal more unexplainable events.

There had also been the unexpectedly high cost of bribing Stephen’s driver. Tracey hushed her husband as they climbed into the car, arguing that he should be glad that not anyone could afford the stunt they were about to pull.

It also helped that both Jon and his wife were really very short.

“Hey, Stephen.” Grunting a little theatrically, Jon climbed from the trunk access hatch into the seating compartment. Taking a seat to his friend’s right, he shook himself from his shoulders to his hips already knowing that he would regret 30 minutes in the fetal position tomorrow.

“Hi Stephen!” Tracey climbed to Stephen other side and kissed him soundly on his cheek. “We heard you had a very long day and decided we all need a Date Night. That work for you?” Not waiting for an answer, Tracey hauled her purse into her lap and dug out her phone. “Jon, did you get a chance to talk to Evie?”

“Yep. She says that if we break him we buy him and that he needs to be home by midnight.”

“Where do you want me to get the pizza?” Tracey thumbed through the menu on her phone to the dial screen and smacked her gum as she waited for Jon’s answer.

“Tino’s? Off 63? Mushroom, right, Stephen? You promised me that if we ever went back to Tino’s you’d eat your words and try the mushroom.” Reaching across Stephen’s lap, Jon handed his wife his phone to copy the number.

“Stephen can’t have mushrooms. We need to order pepperoni or he’ll whine.”

“Stephen doesn’t care what’s on his pizza as long as it’s covered with cheese. Get the mushroom and a Dr. Pepper. He’ll survive.”

Stephen looked back and forth between the two arguing spouses and realized that they were really going to kidnap him in a studio-hired Lincoln Continental.

Tracey put her hand over the receiver to muffle her voice from the man on the other end who was apparently taking their order. “They’re out of chocolate chip cookies. Stephen, will cheesecake do instead?” Tracey smiled in his direction and grabbed his left hand to bring it to her lips for a kiss. The car grew quiet as both man and wife waited for his response.

Stephen, not quite believing his life, threw his arms around Jon and laughed.

 

*****

“Hey you.”

At the sound of Stephen’s voice, Jon smiled. He placed his hand over the receiver, mouthed “Stephen” to Tracey, and walked into the living room. Nate was playing in the corner. Maggie was toddling after him, determined to keep up.

“I’m sorry. Do I know you? Is this about the Biography special?”

“Funny failure, JStew.” Jon heard something whir in the background. “I’m heading into the city to work with Allison on a piece, and I figured I’d give you a call while I drove.”

“So nice to know you remember my number.” Jon put his feet up on the coffee table and listened to the sounds of Stephen getting in to his car.

“I just, look Jon, I know I haven’t been the best about staying in touch lately, and…and I just want you to know that I always want to. To call, that is. It’s just that sometimes I look up and realize damn near a month’s passed.”

Jon could hear the turn signal clicking in the background. He pictured Stephen turning out of his driveway and easing into the traffic that he complained about every day since moving to Montclair.

Jon settled back onto his couch. “Hey Stephen, you talking on a headset?”

“Um, yeah. Why?”

Jon heard the clicking in the background stop. “So you’re talking while you drive?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you should use that headset to call me whenever you want. Whenever you’re driving and you think ‘Hey, maybe I should bother Jon.’ ” Jon heard Stephen’s smile over the phone. “Call me when you’re getting the mail. When you run to the store for Evie. Doesn’t have to be long. You can even leave a voice message on my phone.”

A low chuckle came through the line. “So I take it you don’t get tired of the sound of my voice? I know for a fact that I can be quite clingy.”

“Never.”

“There’s no such thing as social Bounce, Jon.”

Jon smiled into the receiver, glad to hear Stephen sounding like the man he knew again. “I know how busy you are, Stephen. Just let me know you’re doing okay every once in a while. When you’re coming over for spaghetti.”

Once again, Stephen chuckled. “Oh my god, I love you guys.”

 

 

 

** Epilogue  **

Tracey, unbeknownst to the men in the living room, was taking a few minutes to stand back and just watch. Ten years ago when Jon had come home from his first day at his new job and ranted over a bowl spaghetti, she never would have guessed that this would be where the three of them would end up.

 _You should see this guy, Tracey. I’ve never seen anyone with so little reservation_.

And as the months turned into years, the stories, if anything, became more animated, more…brilliant.

_Knowing him he’ll bring something like The Complete Gattica Collection on DVD and I’ll be forced to flee._

_Hold him, Stephen. He’s a baby, and you’re practically family anyway._

Despite the hour, the television was still on, blaring infomercials now that the channel had signed off for the night. Her husband was deep asleep and on his stomach slept an exhausted Stephen Colbert.

The sight was as familiar to her as her own reflection in the mirror.

It was innocent and sweet in a way that two grown men would never admit to in the light of day. Despite the advancing grey hair and ever-increasing professional demands, the two of them still managed to set aside nights where they could stay up and pretend they were sixteen and indefatigable. Jon always fell asleep first, and Stephen, without the steady conversation to keep him awake, would nod off on the couch next to him. Jon never could sleep well sitting up and would lie flat on the cushions to get more room.

As with most things, where Jon led, Stephen followed.

Tracey knew that the sleepy hold her husband had on Stephen Colbert was one of the most honest gestures in his life. Right up there with the way he tucked her head against his shoulder at night or the way he swung Maggie around the dining room when he got home from work. She understood why he needed Stephen Colbert in his life, and, now that many years had passed, she was finally starting to understand why Stephen needed Jon’s steady, patient presence.

What she _couldn’t_ understand was why she was standing in the living room doorway at three in the morning.

Taking one last sip of her hot cocoa, Tracey moved into the room, switched off the lights, and used the remote to turn off the TV.

She’d wake them in the morning.


End file.
